Mending Fences
by DeniseV
Summary: Vin and Ezra are days away when they send mixed signals back to Four Corners. Chris and Nathan head out to help. It's not exactly smooth sailing, especially where Ezra and Nathan are concerned.


"Ah recognize that there is no actual budget for transporting miscreants from one part of the territory to another, but is not a three to four day ride on horseback – each way - a cruel punishment for the privilege? It in no way makes up for the pittance extra that we pocket for taking a rotation in this duty. And what, Mistah Tanner, was our extra income to be for taking our turn?"

"Nothin'."

* * *

"Mr. Larabee?"

Chris Larabee looked up from perusing the previous day's newspaper. Despite the fact that the town of Four Corners had become less violent and more of a place where families were moving to these last two years rather than moving away from, as had been the case when he and the six other men Judge Orin Travis hired had started protecting the village and its outer reaches, the leader of the seven lawmen still found that, most days, he was still too busy to manage to read the paper on the day it was published. He might have an "in" with the publisher these days – he'd been dating Mary Travis, officially, going on three months now – but he had yet to convince her that a morning daily would up her circulation. For him, once the day got going, there rarely seemed a moment when other business wasn't more important than what the beautiful newspaper publisher had to say … in print.

"Yeah, Sam," he replied. Samuel Priem had taken on the job of running telegrams, in the morning, now that his brother was working with Robert Merton on his current cattle drive.

"Got two telegrams for ya," the young boy said. He was only eleven years old, but he proved to be as mature in the job as his brother Matthew had been. The addition of the Priem family about eighteen months ago had proved a boon to their entire community. Chris admired the job that Albert, the latest telegraph operator, and his wife Rachel were doing in raising the boys. It hurt some days, seeing in their family what might have been had Sarah and Adam not perished in the fire. The hurt was nothing like it used to be. That ache that he was sure would never go away was now buffered by the friendships he shared with his fellow peacekeepers, eased by his and Mary's deepening feelings for one another, and the love of a little boy, young Billy Travis, a child so in need of a father's love and guidance; that the boy looked to Chris for these things was a soothing balm now, rather than a painful reminder of what was lost.

Sam handed the former gunslinger the two folded notes. Chris pulled a coin from his pocket.

"That ain't, um … isn't n … necessary, Mr. Larabee," the youngster said.

"Take it anyway. You do a good job, Sam." The boy took the coin with a happy smile. The days were fewer now that seeing a young boy smile had him daydream of what Adam might have been like as he grew older, if only …

"Thank you. Would you like for me to wait for a reply, Mr. Larabee?"

Chris grinned. _This boy had Ezra Standish's influence all over him_, Chris thought, amused. And he wasn't the only _little_ Ezra walking around town. The man had made his influence felt with so many of the children of Four Corners.

It wasn't a bad thing.

"No. Whatever it is, if I need to send any reply, I'll head over."

"All right. Have a good day."

"You, too, Sam." Chris watched Samuel Priem scoot under the batwing doors and down the steps, and then kick up dust as he ran back to the telegraph office.

"What're you smilin' at?" Buck Wilmington asked.

"Where'd you come from?" Chris asked his oldest friend, easily avoiding having to answer the question.

"I, uh, _borrowed_ Ezra's room," the town's Lothario said with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eyes.

Chris glared at his friend. "Now you know what a mess you caused last time you did that without askin'. Thought Ezra was gonna shoot you."

"Who says I didn't ask?" Buck challenged.

"Did you ask?"

Defiant blue eyes turned quickly mischievous. "No."

Chris shook his head. "He warned you the last time," Chris noted.

"Actually, I think he said you were 'banned from the premises' unless Ezra was present," Nathan Jackson, the town's healer offered, having heard most of the conversation on his way in to the saloon for breakfast.

"He was kiddin' 'bout that," Buck defended.

"He wasn't," Josiah Sanchez said as he followed Nathan to the table. The former preacher frowned at hearing that Buck was up to his shenanigans once more.

"Well, hell boys. He wasn't usin' it. Hate for such fine bedding to go to waste."

"Did you at least make arrangements for his sheets to be changed?" the healer asked. They all knew that the fastidious gambler would know immediately if something untoward had gone on in his bed, even _with_ clean sheets.

"No. It'll air out," Buck assured them.

"Agh! Buck, you did it again?" J.D. Dunne asked, having figured out the gist of the conversation completely from what he overheard Buck just say. The young sheriff loved the ladies' man like a brother, but he, just like everyone else, knew that Buck was pushing it with Ezra, 'borrowing' his room when the southerner was out of town.

"What?"

"Make sure the sheets get cleaned," Chris ordered. "And don't do it again."

"Fine. Got plenty o' places I can go."

"Nobody cares, Buck," J.D. said as he sat across the table from the handsome gunman. He made sure that he was far enough away from any possibility of Buck knocking his hat from the table. The youngest member of their law enforcement group saw the paper in Chris' hand. "Is that a telegram from Ezra and Vin?" he asked.

"I was just gettin' ready to look," Chris said as he unfolded both telegrams. "Hell," he said quickly, clearly not having had time to read either telegram before they had all showed up for their morning meal. He looked from one note to the other again, shook his head, and re-phrased his feelings on what he had just learned. "Shit."

"What's wrong?" Josiah asked, his face full of worry.

"One's from Ezra, one's from Vin."

"Shit," Buck said, expressing with the former gunslinger's epithet precisely what they were all thinking.

Chris read through the first one, shaking his head more than once. Then he looked to the second one, nodding once and then snorting, "No kidding" as he finished.

"Let's hear it, old pard," Buck said, knowing from the reaction of his long-time friend that the news wasn't good. Chris handed the first telegram to Josiah to read.

**ARRIVED SILVER CITY. STOP. DEPOSITED MISCREANTS. STOP. FORCED TO REMAIN. STOP. ALL IS WELL. STOP. WILL KEEP POSTED REGARDING RETURN. STOP. EPS. FULL STOP.**

"What's he mean by 'forced to remain'?" Nathan asked.

"And why's it so short?" Buck asked. "That ain't like Ezra," he added.

"And if they got Rivers to the sheriff, why ain't they just headin' back?" J.D. asked.

"This is why," Chris answered, and then he read Vin's telegram.

**EZRA HURT AND SICK. STOP. BRING NATE. STOP. VT. FULL STOP.**

"Damn," Josiah said softly.

"Nathan," Chris said as he stood, "get your things. We'll head out as soon as you're ready."

"All right," the healer said as he rose from his chair.

"I'll have Inez pack you up some food."

"Thanks, Josiah. J.D., head over to Nettie's, see if she can spend the next week in town. Between her and Gloria, they should be able to handle most of what Nathan might have been needed for." Though that would not include any serious surgical procedures, Nettie Wells was well-versed in removing bullets and dealing with serious injuries, including knife wounds and excessive bleeding. Gloria Potter had proven to be a calm and comforting assistant over the years, helping Nathan nurse just about every one of The Seven through bullets and arrows, fevers and infection that the men had sustained while protecting her family, business, home and town.

"Sure thing, Chris. I'll head over now. Be careful. It's a full three days to get to Silver City by horse."

"I know. We'll be careful."

"Take it easy, kid," Buck said.

"I will," J.D. called as he barreled through the batwing doors. Chris smiled; damned if J.D. didn't still seem like a kid, Sam's early race from the saloon still fresh in his mind and making for an easy comparison.

"Whaddya s'pose happened?" Buck asked.

"Don't know. Those two can find trouble without leavin' their rooms." About a year ago, nearly two years after they'd first made Vin Tanner's acquaintance, the former bounty hunter finally agreed to take a room in the boarding house and stop using his wagon as a place to live. Though he was still a wanted man, it had also been two years since Eli Joe and his band had tried to grab the tracker. There hadn't been another bounty hunter sniffing around for Vin in Four Corners, or New Mexico Territory for that matter, as far as they knew.

"Can't deny it," Josiah agreed upon his return from Inez Rocillos' kitchen.

"Make sure you pack some extra canteens," Buck suggested. "We're only halfway into spring, but it can get hot already, especially when ya get farther south."

"I'll fetch four and fill 'em up and meet you at the livery."

"Thanks, Josiah. Buck, it's just you, Josiah and J.D. for the better part of a week," Chris said.

"At least."

"Yeah," Chris agreed, knowing that they wouldn't really know how long they would be gone until they got there. "Keep alert, keep patrols to town and only a mile or two out in each direction until we get back."

"Will do, Chris. Watch yer backs."

* * *

The first day's ride was spent keeping a steady pace, with blessedly mild weather helping them along the way. The morning remained cool, blue sky peeking through clouds just hinting at possible storms to come. The two lawmen made good progress, the earlier part of their ride in the northern reaches of New Mexico territory far more familiar to them than what they would face as they headed farther south to Silver City. Chris and Nathan were more than happy with the better-than-expected time they made, and were definitely ready to make camp.

"You think Ezra did somethin' to provoke? Got hurt and now the wound is festerin'? I know Silver City ain't got no doctor," Nathan said. "Least not a real one," he added.

Chris gave the healer a sidelong glance. "Are you ever going to accept that Ezra isn't one of the bad guys?"

"Now come on, Chris. Just 'cause he's one of us don't mean that he can't get caught in a fight at the poker table."

"And when was the last time that happened?"

"It don't matter. It's happened. It can happen again."

"That ain't what happened," Chris declared.

"How do you know?"

"'Cause he came to me the day I assigned him and Vin. Asked if I could find someone else to go with Vin."

"Didja ask … "

"Yeah, I asked him why. He said he was hoping to go play a tournament in Eagle Bend. I said it was his turn, that it wouldn't be fair to skip him."

"You did the right thing," Nathan assured the tall blond as they talked over their campfire. Both men were glad for the hot coffee, a special blend that Ezra purchased for Chris not long ago. Overnight would be chilly; Chris and Nathan had their bedrolls side-by-side, the warmth of their bodies back to back would help to keep them warm enough.

"No, I didn't. He looked like hell."

"Probably had a hangover," Nathan said to the leader of the men now famously known as The Magnificent Seven. He was thoroughly confident in the assumption.

"God damn it, Nathan! He'd put in two patrols in a row. He covered for Josiah when he rushed out with you to the reservation, two days before he asked me. Then he worked his regular shift. Vin told me he showed up at the saloon after, stopped briefly to ask how things had been, stopped at the bar but didn't take the bottle that Inez had placed on it for him."

"That don't mean he didn't drink before he and Vin were supposed to leave. Could o' had a stash in his room. You know he drinks, just tolerates it better than Josiah."

"You really do have a blind spot where Ezra is concerned. He covered the afternoon shift that day at the jail. He skipped supper, didn't join us in the saloon. Inez said he said he was tired and called it an early night. And he don't keep liquor in his room, not since Buck drank all he had that first time he 'borrowed' Ezra's room. He knows Inez will keep Buck's hands off his good stuff."

Nathan was now looking concerned, and very upset.

"I didn't really notice … "

"No, you didn't. And as I'm thinking back on it, he really did look like shit. And then later, after he asked to be 'relieved of duty'," Chris said, using his best Ezra impersonation, "he … " Chris paused and shook his head.

"What?"

"He lied about the poker tournament. I read the paper, a day late, like always. Vin and Ezra had only gotten on the road about an hour earlier. Anyway, the newspaper had the results of the poker tournament held in Eagle Bend just over the last weekend. I checked with Mary. She said that Eagle Bend only had one tournament a year. Has for the last five years."

"He was sick when he left," Nathan stated, knowing the truth. Now.

"Yeah. And apparently now he's hurt, too."

"Damn. It's my fault," the black man admitted.

"I hate to have to agree. A lot of it is your fault. He's going to continue to avoid going to you because of … whatever it is that causes you to act the way you do with him. I ain't without fault," Chris said guiltily. "I saw he wasn't feelin' good. He's damn good at misdirection."

"Well, let's get some sleep. Maybe if we get an early enough start and keep the same pace as we did today, we can get there sooner."

"All right." Chris drank the last of his coffee. "I'll take first watch."

* * *

"Ah can assure you, Mistah Tanner, you would have to tie mah person to this bed to get me to spend one more night in this miserable town."

"Don't tempt me, Ezra."

"Are you sayin' that the thought of me tied to this bed is tantalizin' to you?"

"Only if I can I can put something around your face to keep that mouth of yours quiet."

"Oh, mah, mah. Bondage. And no safe word? And Ah have always thought you to be a gentleman."

"I ain't gonna punch ya 'cause I know yer still out of it with fever." It had been a frustrating couple of days for the former bounty hunter. Though his gambling friend maintained moments of lucidity, here and there, he'd also experienced vivid fevered dreams, hallucinations and, like now, times where he'd been talking like a crazy person. Vin knew that Ezra would be embarrassed by what he'd just said … if he remembered any of it.

The moment they'd handed their prisoner over to the new sheriff in Silver City, Vin and Ezra started over to leave their horses at the livery. Though Vin rode Peso on this trip, Ezra had opted for one of his favorite rental horses. He always chose to spare his cherished steed the taxing physical effort whenever the trip was more than forty-eight hours each way. Vin knew that what Ezra meant was that he would not include Chaucer unless someone he cared about was in danger, or if they were all venturing somewhere together. In that event, he would want his swift and trusted companion. Chaucer was an exceptional animal and the match of any horse stock Vin had ever seen.

They chose to walk the horses to the livery. After three long days in the saddle, they were more than ready to stretch their legs, despite their exhaustion. As they walked and discussed plans for the evening - the fast-approaching night, really, as the skies darkened with the setting sun - they saw a young boy charging through town in an old, rickety wagon. Just as Vin was readying to comment that the boy had lost control of the horse leading the wagon, the back wheel loosed its way off on the left side. The wheel was on a direct trajectory, heading straight for Ezra's horse. A yell of 'Dear lord' from the southerner was the only warning of what was to come. Unfortunately, Ezra moved too fast for Vin to stop him. The former con man, a lover of all animals, ran out in front of the rental horse in an attempt to intercept or redirect or do whatever he could to keep the animal from injury. Vin wondered if maybe his tired friend had forgotten that it wasn't Chaucer in danger, but he discounted the thought; Ezra would have done the same thing no matter what horse he had ridden.

"Ezra!" Vin called, but both Peso and the rental horse named Midnight had been disturbed by the sudden movement and yelling from the gambler, and probably fear from the noise of the wagon falling in on itself from the loss of a critical piece that had kept it from crumbling to the ground years ago. They both bolted ahead, natural instinct removing them from danger, but it was too late for Ezra. He bared his left side to the wagon wheel in hopes of saving himself from too serious injury. The wheel hit him hard on his left hip and lower left arm. The wheel practically disintegrated with one of the spokes flying up and catching Ezra on his hard head. He and the shattered wheel fell to the ground. Vin had been hit by flying debris, but his scratches paled in comparison to Ezra's injuries.

Silver City had no doctor or healer. The old medicine man reeked of rotgut. Even though he had offered some herbs and a concoction made from native plants and roots that he'd heard Nathan talk about, Vin didn't trust the old Indian to get either the correct mix or the dosage right. So Ezra had suffered, the crack to the head worrisome, the fever more so, as the tracker could not figure where it was coming from. Vin had done what he considered a fine job splinting the arm, and the gash on Ezra's hip and the one on his head were both clean and covered, infection free and healing well. The teas that Nathan always made sure were in their saddlebags weren't keeping the fever down or the gambler quiet.

As combative as Ezra had been, he would also quickly tire and fall into restless sleep. The citizens of Silver City had been as helpful as they could be during the time the two had been mostly holed-up in their hotel room. Vin was relieved several times to eat and take care of his own personal needs, and to send the telegram that he knew he would need to in order to express the urgent need for Nathan's knowledge and care. He wished that he'd not left Ezra early on, when the annoying card sharp had dictated a telegram to the front desk clerk at the hotel. The tracker could just imagine Chris reading through first one and then the second telegram; the thought did bring a slight smile to his face.

A knock at the door brought Vin from his musings. He opened the door to find the banker's wife, Olivia Treacher. Impeccable timing, Vin thought and as Ezra would have said if he'd been at all himself.

"Evenin', Mrs. Treacher," the courteous Texan said.

"It's Olivia, dear." She walked in and headed straight for the man in the bed. "Go have a nice supper." She reached for the rag, wet it and used it to soothe Ezra's over-heated brow. "I can stay with him as long as you need."

"Much obliged," Vin said. "I won't be long."

"You will take a full hour away from here," she ordered. Saying no to this woman was like saying no to Nettie Wells: there needed to be a damned good reason to warrant it. The consequences just didn't seem worth it.

"Yes, ma'am," the former bounty hunter said as he grabbed his coat and his weapon.

"You are a fine young man, Vin. You are a credit to your parents."

"I hope so," he said as he lowered his head, his face blushing at the compliment.

"You are. A person would have to look pretty far to find five men in this town as polite as you, to find someone who would be so committed to their hurt friend." Vin's blush burned like fire on his face. "Go on, now," Olivia finished, taking unabashed pleasure in his embarrassment.

"All right. He fell asleep a little while ago. He was pretty … feisty before, though."

"I can handle him."

Vin was convinced that she could. "Thank you, ma'am … um, Olivia." He nodded his head toward her and then walked out the door.

* * *

"They should be there soon," J.D. said as he thumbed through the new batch of wanted posters.

"Yeah, kid. Guess Chris and Nate didn't stop in Santa Fe or Albuquerque or we would o' heard from 'em. We didn't get any telegrams."

"Brother Nathan said he wanted to get there as fast as possible," Josiah noted as he took a long swig of his coffee.

"Sounded like ol' Ez was doin' better in Vin's last telegram," Buck said. He looked down at the cards on the desk in the jail. "Don't know how Ez can stand playin' this game," he added as he tossed the cards remaining in his hand together with those he'd already laid down, mixing them into a haphazard pile after his tenth failed game of solitaire.

"You gotta pay attention to the game, Buck, not keep lookin' out the window to see if Penelope or Prudence or whatever her name is is gonna walk by."

"Her name is Priscilla, J.D.," Buck said as he lunged for the sheriff's bowler hat. The young man was too fast and grasped it just in time, though that got the tall dark-haired man out of his seat to chase his 'little brother' around the office.

"Ain't lettin' ya have it, Buck," J.D. practically giggled as he skidded toward Josiah in order to hide behind his considerable frame – even sitting – to avoid the reach of the town Lothario.

"I'll get it," Buck challenged as he reached around the big preacher man.

"Buck," Josiah warned as he raised his coffee mug high out of reach.

"Gimme that," the tall gunman said.

"No!" J.D. replied, laughing as he used Josiah for protection. Buck reached again, knocking Josiah's arm. Coffee sloshed out, just barely missing Josiah's pants.

"All right! That's enough! Take it outside, boys," he ordered in his booming voice, and that was precisely what the two 'boys' did. Josiah looked up to the ceiling and with a pleading voice, said, "Lord, give me patience."

* * *

"How's he doin'?" Chris asked Vin as Nathan sat on the edge of the bed and gave Ezra the once-over.

"I think the fever finally broke for good after supper yesterday. It came and went 'til then. Been sleepin' since then, 'cept fer moanin' when he moved onto his left side. Bruises are pretty bad."

"I see you got a poultice on these bruises, Vin. That's good. You got arnica and yarrow and … somethin' else," Nathan commented as he placed the poultice back over the bruising on Ezra's hip.

"Comfrey. Mrs. Treacher, the banker's wife, grows it and then dries it to have handy. She said her mother back in England always had it handy to help heal scrapes and bruises," Vin replied.

"I read about it. Maybe I'll talk to her about how to get some, how to grow it," the healer replied, always curious to get as many helpful plants into his section of Gloria Potter's garden as possible. Ezra suggested two seasons ago that Nathan might consider growing some of the more unusual medicinal plants in a garden that weren't readily available in their native desert environment. The former slave had been more than happy to follow-up with Gloria on the suggestion, and the owner of the mercantile was pleased to provide a section of her garden for such a worthwhile cause.

"How's the other one? Should we take the splint off so you can look at it?" Vin asked worriedly. He hadn't bothered changing that bandage since setting the broken bone for fear of causing a permanent injury.

"I'll do that." Nathan started in removing the straight slats of wood that had been used as a splint, then the rag. "Looks good, but could you have some more of this mixture made up … "

"Got it right here," Vin said. He pulled out a large glass jar about one third filled with a yellowish-green substance. Nathan wiped the gunk from Ezra's arm, examined the bruise, nodded his head in satisfaction, and then began to replace the ointment on the bruise caused by the wagon wheel.

"You fellers got here jest in time. I'm outta elderberry and feverfew, and the town's doc ain't worth much," Vin said. He didn't normally speak unkindly of people, especially someone from the tribes who was only there to help, but Vin was sure that a decent doctor or healer could have helped some with Ezra's condition over the last days.

"He had fevers on and off, delirium … or worse? No vomiting, right?" Nathan asked. "And that man ain't no doctor." Nathan looked up from his patient to the tracker. "He callin' himself a doctor?"

"No, medicine man. And yeah, everything you said is right 'bout Ezra's symptoms."

"But he didn't hit his head, other than this?" the black man asked, palpating the vivid bruise and large lump high up on his left cheek.

"Well, I didn't think so. Didn't find a lump or cut or nothin'. He sher was actin' funny."

"Did he act strange on the ride here?" Chris asked.

"Why are you askin' such of a question, Mistah Larabee?" Ezra murmured softly. The southerner yawned, rubbed his face with both hands, hissing lightly, not remembering that he should only be using his good right hand. He kept the uninjured hand doing its job, trying to rub the tiredness away. "When did you gentlemen arrive?" He looked at his splinted arm, and then up to Nathan. He got little satisfaction from the healer on whether his hand and arm would heal properly.

"They jest got here, Ez," Vin told his friend.

"And how long have Ah been … " Ezra's eyes opened wide with worry. "Chaucer!"

"You didn't ride him here, remember? But yer rental horse is fine. I saw him when I took Nathan's horse and Pony over to the livery," Chris assured the worried gambler.

"Ah … Ah had forgotten," Ezra said, barely loud enough to be heard. He'd been prepared to remind Chris that his rental horse and the healer's regular ride had names, but his mind seemed little more than mush at the moment. He kept his mouth shut, for now.

"Why'd you ask 'bout how Ezra was actin' on the ride here?" Vin asked Chris.

"'Cause the damn fool was sick before he left Four Corners," Nathan replied angrily. "Vin, can you take that cloth and wet it with that hot water?"

Vin frowned at the reply, grabbed the cloth from Nathan and began to wet it as he asked of the card sharp, "Ez, is that true?"

"Ah had … felt bettah," Ezra answered.

"Why didn't ya say somethin'?" Vin asked with an obvious mix of anger and worry.

"He did," Chris said. "I didn't … I wasn't listening close enough."

"God damn it, Chris," Vin said as he handed the warm, wet cloth to Nathan.

"Vin, do not be too hard on Mist … "

"Shut up, Ezra. Yer as much to blame as Chris."

Ezra put his hand to his chest and asked, "How, pray tell, would that be?" he asked the former bounty hunter.

"Yer too … what's the word … accomodatin'. Every one of us would have understood if you didn't feel up to a three day ride if you were feelin' sick. You could have told Chris that you weren't feelin' good. We were all in town. Coulda sent Buck, or J.D., or Josiah … "

"Or me," Chris said. "You didn't try very hard, Ezra. And Vin's right. We all care about ya. When you're sick, you need to tell me. You were out of it for most of the three days ya been here," Chris told the former con man. "Ya scared Vin enough ta call for help."

"Three days?" Ezra asked as he looked to Vin for confirmation.

"Yep."

"What ailment am Ah sufferin' that would put me in such a state?" the southerner asked, shivering at the thought, though Nathan wasn't convinced his patient wasn't cold from the warm cloth having grown chilled too soon.

"That feel cold?" he asked.

"No, no." He looked at each of his friends, none of whom had answered his question. "Nathan?"

"Don't know, Ez. I don't know of nothin' with quite those symptoms goin' around."

"Ah suppose the … moment that had Mistah Tanner so worried, the ravings, the delirium, that places the illness outside the norm," Ezra surmised. "Ah do remembah some of what Ah said, Vin. Mah sincerest regrets for the way Ah spoke to you," Ezra said as he lowered his chin to his chest.

"Ain't nothin' to apologize for, Ez."

Nathan could tell that Ezra remained embarrassed; what he said to Vin must have been pretty bad. "In answer to your question, Ezra, yeah. Did you get bit by anything, or eat something unusual any time before you started feeling sick?" Nathan finished giving Ezra as good a bath as he could, given the circumstances. "You got a new poultice under your splint. The other one looked good." Ezra relaxed into his pillows. He was tired, and thinking about what might be wrong was taking all of his energy. He could easily have fallen back asleep, except for Nathan. "Ez, don't fall asleep. Need you to answer my questions."

"Forgive me." The injured but healing man yawned. "Ah ingested nothing untoward." They could all believe that; Ezra was particular about what he ate and drank. Vin figured that was part of how the man kept in such good shape, considering how much of his life was spent sitting at a poker table. "Ah have no insect bites, or other bites. Ah … " the poker player continued, but stopped suddenly.

"What?" Chris asked.

"W … Well, Ah have a splinter …." Chris rolled his eyes. "You see? This is why Ah hesitated to mention it."

Nathan glared at Chris. "Where is this splinter?" the former slave asked.

"It is under mah right arm. Ah thought that Ah had cleaned it, but Ah know the piece of wood is still in it."

"How'd ya get a splinter there?" Vin asked. It was an unusual place for Ezra, of all people, to get a splinter: the man was hardly ever seen without his layers of clothing.

"It been botherin' you?" Nathan asked as he raised the arm in question. He looked carefully, and then looked at Ezra with a harsh frown. "Guess you don't have to answer that." The 'splinter' was substantial, the wound red and ugly with puss. "How'd this happen?"

"Ah was assistin' Missus Potter with some crates." Chris snorted a laugh. Ezra stopped talking.

"Why do you have ta do that?" Vin asked of the tall blond.

Chris had the decency to look abashed. "Sorry, Ez."

"Ah was reachin' over a crate and cut mah arm. And mah shirt."

"And you were more worried about your shirt. Did Gloria try to treat it?"

"Mistah Jackson … "

"Never mind," Nathan said, cutting the gambler off. "This ain't small, and it's badly infected. But you must have had something other than this wrong … "

"He was working a lot of shifts," Chris said.

"So now you are willin' to recognize that?" Ezra grumbled in exhausted aggravation.

"If ya'd just be honest about how ya feel … " Chris started, his own frustration impossible to hide.

"Bein' honest brought on nothin' but derision when Ah mentioned mah time at Missus Potter's … "

"Ya need to build up a pattern … "

"Are you sayin' you don't trust me, Mistah Larabee? Ah had hoped you … finally … understood me bettah." Ezra put his hand to his head. Quietly, but still loud enough to be heard by both men, the hurting man said, "No. It is not worth the effort."

"All right, you two. That's enough," Nathan demanded, silencing his two friends. "Chris, why don't you and Vin go get us something to eat. See if they got any broth for Ezra."

"Ah am not hungry."

"Vin, how much has he eaten since ya'll been here?" Nathan asked. "I still think he may have a virus that might have caused the worst of these symptoms, but combined with that infected cut, exhaustion, all these other hurts, his ability to fight it all is way down."

"He ain't ate much, Nate."

"Traitor," Ezra said to Vin. The tracker just smiled back at the former con man, then gave him a wink, and then Vin and Chris left the room while Nathan started telling Ezra how it was going to be.

* * *

"Chris says they're gonna start back tomorrow," J.D. explained as he held the telegram in his hand. He spoke with Josiah and Buck on the boardwalk in front of the jailhouse.

"They sure Ezra's up to the ride?" Josiah asked.

The town had been blessedly quiet while four of the seven peacekeepers were gone, now going on eight days in total since Vin and Ezra had headed south. Robert Merton finished his first cattle drive of the year while the four men were still in Silver City and was working with the remaining three lawmen to keep the town secure. With his wife and daughter protected by these men while he was away on the drives, Robert always felt more than willing to take a turn on patrol or do whatever needed to be done, when he could. Josiah, Buck and J.D. were equally grateful to have the cattleman handy, just in case.

"Said they'll take four days, dependin' on how Ez does," J.D. continued, smiling as he caught a glimpse of Casey running to catch up with her Aunt Nettie. Buck grinned at his friend, and wondered how long it would take the young man to finally propose to sweet Casey Wells. The "little girl" as he once called her had blossomed these last three years into quite a woman. Gone were the days when Casey would walk around town with dirt smeared on her face and donning worn overalls. She still wouldn't be caught dead in a dress, but she also knew that she was not a kid anymore, and she obviously no longer wanted to be perceived as one. Buck watched as Casey passed by the saloon and that brought the handsome gunman back to thoughts of his friend. His concern for the gentleman gambler was foremost on his mind. He grinned, amazed that he and his other friends would spend evenings as often as they did getting beaten by the professional poker player. It seemed that Ezra could take all of their money, blindfolded, yet they all kept coming back for more. The fact was, Ezra never took all their money these days, often begging away from the table well before he might do had the men at the table been strangers.

"Good. Ain't no need to rush, have him get sick on the trail," Buck emphasized. With an even larger grin on his face, the mustachioed man moved on to his favorite topic: women. He added, "Wonder if Chris visited Brigitte. Whoo-doggie. Ain't never seen a woman so endowed. Lordy-be, that girl had tit … um … howdy, Mrs. Travis."

"Buck," the pretty blond said, not letting on just how much of what Buck said she had overheard. "Good afternoon, gentlemen," she added as she addressed the other peacekeepers as they stood chatting on the boardwalk in front of the jail.

"Mary," Josiah said as he tipped his hat in a gentlemanly fashion.

"Hey, Mrs. Travis. Fine day, ain't it?" J.D. asked.

"It is. I understand the others are heading home tomorrow?" It was telling, just how much Chris cared for the pretty newspaper publisher that he would bother to send her a telegram, too, letting her know when he would be returning home.

"That's what we hear," J.D. replied. "Guess Ez is all right."

"Telegram said they'd be takin' it slow," Buck noted.

"Yes, I would think so." She looked to each man, and then settled on Buck. "Mr. Wilmington, could I borrow you for a moment?"

"Sure thing," the tall, dark-haired man said as he bounded down from the boardwalk. "What can I do for ya, ma'am?"

"I will only keep him a little while," Mary said to Josiah and J.D. as she and Buck strolled down the avenue. They walked a ways, far enough so that no one was around to hear the conversation. Mary said, "I need to be honest when I ask …." The newspaper woman stopped and looked into Buck's eyes, blue eyes full of warmth and caring. But Mary Travis knew that warm and caring might not trump loyal. Buck Wilmington's loyal friendship with Chris Larabee could be the reason why this discussion ended in an unsatisfactory manner … for her. "Can you be honest with me if I ask you why Chris had to go to Silver City?"

"Well, that's easy. He went 'cause Vin and Ezra needed help."

"That is not really the case. Ezra needed Nathan."

"Now, that's true, but you know we have a rule 'bout riding that far alone," Buck explained, knowing that this game of avoidance was not likely to end well for him.

"I am aware of that policy, and I support it, wholeheartedly. But J.D., or Josiah … or you could have gone. I had hoped, I thought that Chris would …." The beautiful woman paused as she realized that even if Chris Larabee had proposed to her, an event that was still well in the future in their fledgling relationship, there would likely always be the pull of one or more of these men that would separate her from the man she was falling in love with. As she thought more about it, with Buck Wilmington waiting patiently, looking at her with those warm and caring eyes that were giving away none of his friend's secrets, she realized that this was no character flaw, this sense of duty of his friends to Chris, and vice versa. His commitment … his loyalty to his friends was as appealing a part of the man as the other things that had drawn her to him.

"Mary?" Buck asked the woman who seemed miles away, lost in thought.

Mary smiled, and looked a little embarrassed, when she said, "I just this moment realized that it doesn't matter." She looked down and then looked to Buck once more. "I'm sorry to have bothered you."

"It weren't no bother, Mary." He found that the pretty lady was averting her eyes once more. "Mary," he said as he lifted her chin lightly, until their eyes met once more, "you ain't got nothin' to worry about."

"I don't?"

"No, you don't," Buck said with a wink.

"And that's all you're going to tell me?" Mary asked with a wry smile.

"I don't aim to be the one Chris is mad at when he gets back, so … yeah, that's all I got to say." Mary laughed. "It's not that funny. You're only laughing 'cause you haven't crossed him." He paused and added, "Well, not since that article you wrote after him and Vin saved Nathan's life."

Mary smiled sheepishly, remembering her first real encounter with Chris Larabee.

"Oh, Buck, you're his oldest friend. What could you possibly say to upset him?" Buck returned a pained grin, remembering the threat he'd received from Chris after he'd divulged more information to the sole reporter for the Clarion newspaper – one Mary Travis - than Chris had wanted anyone in the town to know. That seemed an eternity ago, but that razor at his neck was a lesson well-learned. Luckily for Buck, he didn't have to explain the things that he knew would set Chris Larabee off as Gloria Potter approached, calling Mary's name. What he knew most was that it was an important job that he had over the next months. Chris was on his way to no longer needing the handsome gunman to keep an eye on him, a solitary, lonely job until he had gained five other good men to assist him some three years earlier. As well, Mary was doing what years of watching and waiting and pulling Chris out of one drunken situation after another never could: she was teaching Chris, in the only way he could possibly have learned it, that it was okay to love again. That it was okay to let go of the pain. That it was okay to live again.

"Mary, I understand that Mr. Standish is on his way back," the widow who ran the mercantile said.

"Yes, Gloria, they're leaving Silver City tomorrow," Mary replied.

"That is good news. That will give us plenty of time."

"Yes it will," Mary said with an affectionate tone to her voice.

"Plenty of time, ladies?" Buck asked, curious about what these two women were cooking up. The two admired leaders of the town looked at one another and with just that – one look - and no words, chose to let Buck in on their plans.

"We have decided, well overdue though it is, to do something to thank Mr. Standish for all he does around here," Gloria said.

Buck frowned, but quickly put his best face forward. He knew that something like this was coming. As a law enforcement team, the town had come up with some clever ways to thank the seven men who protected their town, businesses and families, knowing that the "seven dollars a week, plus room and board" was low pay indeed, and nowhere near payment enough for all they had done to make Four Corners safer, a place where families now felt comfortable to live, to make a life in the harsh though beautiful environment of the high desert. Many services and merchandise were now offered free or at a substantial discount to all of the famed Magnificent Seven. But Ezra had done more than any of them to convince the citizens that there was something special about their 'dusty frontier town', as Ezra Standish had dubbed it. Sure, Josiah continued to fix up the church, and slowly build a congregation. Nathan assured the townsfolk that, despite not having a degree in doctoring, he had all the skills of a doctor. Chris had shown a leadership ability that impressed the entire town, in spite of extended absences when thoughts of his long-lost family were too much to bear. But despite all that Ezra did, and Buck had to admit that Ezra did a lot, he was pretty sure that his friend wouldn't appreciate the fuss.

"What exactly do you have planned, if you don't mind me askin'? Ez might not be shy about lettin' us all know how good he did at the poker table, but most other stuff he kinda likes ta keep close to the vest."

"Yes, we have all talked about that," Mary agreed.

"All?" Buck knew that 'all' meant more than just the two ladies standing before him.

"Yes. Mary and me, Inez, of course, Mrs. Heidegger, Nettie and Casey, Mrs. Merton, Mrs. Jameson, Mrs. Duprey, well, most of the mothers of the children he takes such care with instruction. My, I just don't know what would be going on here without a school teacher if Mr. Standish hadn't stepped up to help us," Gloria gushed.

"You got a whole committee there!" Buck said. He wasn't particularly happy about it. These ladies had kept their plans quiet, so secret that he'd heard nothing about it. He'd have to get with Chris and let him know what was going on.

"It won't be anything that will embarrass him. Because he keeps his good deeds so quiet, we believe that it is important for the entire town to recognize him, show him that we value him," Mary explained.

"What are you going to do?"

"In New York and Chicago and some other big cities, they have been bestowing the Freedom of the City award to special citizens or visiting dignitaries. Four Corners is not exactly a 'city', not yet," Mary said, "but we think that, on occasion, when it is earned, it is not too early to institute such an honor here."

"That's a right nice idea, Mary, but like I said, he won't want a big celebration or nothin'."

"We know. We thought we could do the presentation quietly, without fanfare, at the jail, or in my office. And then I could write a story explaining the purpose of the award and that Ezra had been chosen as the first recipient for all that he does: his turns at patrol, in escorting prisoners and protecting wagon trains, and in between all of that the time he spends with the children and doing the books for so many businesses. Oh, and we can't forget how he helps get the garden started in the spring, including the children in that effort, and of course, his assistance in training the horses with Tiny, Yosemite and Chris, when he has time."

"All right, all right. I give up! Ezra's a saint."

"Well, he's not that," Mary said with a knowing grin, seeing the envy in Buck's reaction.

"But he has a good heart and endless energy," Gloria added.

"You're gonna give him some time to recuperate, right? He's been sick and hurt and three or four days on the trail isn't likely to help him ta feelin' better," Buck noted.

"We'll talk to Nathan before we decide when to give him the honor," Mary assured the ladies' man.

"All right, then," Buck said. "Hey, any news on a schoolmarm?" Ezra had agreed to continue with providing lessons to the children when the new teacher who had been hired had arrived, stayed two days, and then took the first stage to Eagle Bend to catch the next train back east.

"I wouldn't let Mr. Standish hear you say 'schoolmarm'. He prefers 'teacher', quite adamantly, too," Gloria warned.

Buck tried to remain pleasant in front of the two women, but he couldn't hide the huff when he said, "Just because ol' Ez doesn't like a word ain't no reason not to use it. You ladies have a fine day," the tall, handsome and amusingly envious man said, tired of all of the talk of how wonderful Ezra Standish is. He sauntered back to the jailhouse.

Mary raised her eyebrow as she watched the lanky man head away. "Actually, Buck, it usually is," she said, though only Gloria was there to hear it. The other woman smiled as she linked arms with the newspaper publisher and headed to the mercantile. One of the mothers had volunteered to watch over Billy and Gloria's two children as the ladies met to discuss their plans for Ezra.

"Don't worry, Mary. With Ezra's help, and your Chris and so many others … even Mr. Wilmington, we'll make this town something to be envied," Gloria said.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to denigrate Buck, but 'schoolmarm' has a connotation that I just don't appreciate. It's interesting that our language doesn't possess a male equivalent."

"We know why that is, dear."

"I know, Gloria, but we have men in this town who don't seem to fear the future. We're very lucky. I think we can make this town something worthy of our aspirations for our children."

Gloria squeezed Mary's arm affectionately. The two widows had formed a tight bond, sharing in a loss so personal and so devastating, and raising their fatherless children alone; they were lucky to have each other for friendship and support. They continued to walk, striding in tandem, toward their meeting. "We'll have a significant say in that, and we have the backing of some good men in this town." She watched as Buck continued to walk away. "Maybe awarding this to Mr. Standish will show Mr. Wilmington that there is more than one thing to do in your spare time." Mary and Gloria looked at each other and snorted laughs. Gloria added, "All right. Maybe not."

"It is a bright future, isn't it, Gloria?" Mary asked, her eyes equally bright with happiness and hope. Both women knew that in most towns, as women, they would be forced to keep their place. It was different out here in the middle of nowhere. A town needed to accept whomever it was who turned out to be a good leader; having the men of The Magnificent Seven backing them certainly made their opportunities to express their opinions, their hopes for their children, much easier.

"That it is."

* * *

"We need to stop," Nathan insisted. The day had seemed interminable to the black man as he watched Ezra seem to deteriorate with each passing hour.

"Mistah Jackson, we are not so far from home that we cannot push forward and make it there this day."

"Sorry, Ezra, but even I'm tired," the healer said. It wasn't a lie. It was hard work, fretting over someone who hated it as much as Ezra did.

"But we have ridden many more hours already this day than what still lies ahead."

"Ezra, you're sweatin' like a pig … "

"Ah beg your pardon," Ezra said, interrupting Vin's comment. "It is a hot day," the card sharp conceded.

"Don't waste your breath, Ezra. We're makin' camp," Chris said. The tall blond dismounted, handing Pony's reins to Vin. He walked over to Erza, who remained astride his rental horse looking decidedly put out, exhausted, and unable to get himself out of the saddle. "Let me help you down," the former gunslinger offered.

"Ah do not require assistance," the gambler said defiantly. He took a breath and concentrated on getting off of Midnight without falling. He seemed to accomplish that until he turned away from the nearly jet black horse to prepare to tell Chris Larabee that he'd told him so, but the turning brought on an unexpected bout of dizziness. Ezra started to fold to the ground. He reached out, and just as he grabbed for something to hold onto, Chris grasped the poker player's arms firmly and held him in place, taking extra care on the gambler's injured left side. He gave Ezra a moment to get his footing. The former con man had his eyes closed; he could feel himself listing forward, towards Chris' chest, and then backwards, the tight hold of the leader of their law enforcement group all that was keeping him upright. He groaned as he tried to lift a shaky hand to his forehead. Chris' hold kept him from completing the action. "Mah apologies. Ah did not … b'lieve Ah … was this … bad off."

Chris held on as Nathan joined them. "You ain't ready for this kind of riding," the healer said. To Vin, he directed, "Put his bedroll here. We'll move him closer to the fire once the sun goes down." The spot was scattered with aspens, too many branches for a fire. Nathan and Chris walked the southerner to the bedroll that Vin set up for him.

"Ah have been … fine these last … few days," Ezra challenged softly. He really was feeling poorly, much worse than the last few days. His friends helped him down onto the blanket.

"Not really, Ezra. We made camp early the first two days. You were asleep almost as soon as you sat yourself down on the ground," Vin explained.

Ezra frowned. If he was honest about it, these couple of days had seemed somewhat of a blur. He blinked tired eyes and said, "Ah cannot express … the depths of mah … appreciation … for you fine gen'l'men … puttin' up with mah … feebleness."

"Ain't been feeble, Ez. Just sick and hurt," Vin corrected.

"And not holdin' mah own … on this long and … miserably hot journey." Disgusted, he wiped the sweat from his forehead as it threatened to drip into his eyes.

Chris handed the card sharp a canteen. "Take a drink." Ezra complied readily as he took the container and carefully ingested the tepid water. Past experience had told him to be careful drinking too much too fast when he was feeling so sick.

"Nobody expects you to do anything but rest up, Ezra," Nathan told his ill friend. "You gotta know that by now."

"Yes, Ah suppose Ah should, considerin' … how many times Ah have been … incapacitated … "

"We've all been there, Ezra," Chris said cutting the man off while he got their campfire going. The leader of The Seven turned to the tracker. "It's early. You wanna go see if you can hunt us up something decent to eat?"

"Yep." Vin headed to his horse. He was up on Peso far faster than a man with such a bad back should be, and he and his horse headed away. Chris continued to put their camp together while Nathan took an inordinately long time to pull his supplies out. Finally, he headed over to a resting Ezra.

"Where you hurtin'?" Nathan asked. The gambler jumped at the sudden intrusion, but quickly calmed and responded honestly.

"Ah am sore everywhere, but surprisingly, it's mostly mah head."

"You think it's one of your sick headaches?"

Ezra put his hand to the left side of his head, where he'd been hit with a piece of the wagon. "Ah do not b'lieve so."

"I got a tincture of lemon balm and feverfew, just in case. I figure your head hurts because you're tryin' too hard, doin' too much. Once Chris has that fire goin', we'll get some tea into you."

"Might 'we'," Ezra said, emphasizing the word in frustration at his lingering ill health, "hold off on that until after we have had supper? It tastes, well, atrocious is not too severe of a word. Ah have somewhat of an appetite, Ah believe, but it would be shot dead if Ah were to drink that horrendous brew first."

"Sure." Nathan looked at the gambler for what seemed an uncomfortably long gaze.

"What?" the former con man asked.

"Just wondered why you didn't come to me when you were feelin' sick, before you left for Silver City."

"It is not important," Ezra said, looking away from Nathan and toward the sun. The small, still-fertile gully amidst so much dry desert was a familiar oasis to the men; they had been made aware of it by the Indian leader Kojay from the nearby reservation. It held a ready spring with fresh water which proved a lifesaver more than once to one or more of the Magnificent Seven. The area would be dark quite soon as the day waned and the sun settled behind the rocky ridge. The brightness of the setting sun made Ezra squint, and caused his headache to spike.

"Stop lookin' to the sun, Ezra." Nathan's patient listened to the suggestion immediately. He put his head down, though, rather than look at the black man. The healer saw Chris over top of Ezra's head. The former gunslinger nodded toward the ailing member of their group, a silent directive to try his questions once more on the frustrating card sharp.

Nathan sighed heavily. "It's important to me, Ezra, the reason why you didn't ask for my help. I can understand, if you're afraid … "

"That is not it."

"Then what is it?"

"You … " Ezra started, but when he looked into Nathan's eyes he saw concern, an earnest desire to understand what was wrong. Ezra had good reason to avoid seeking out the healer, but the con man just couldn't bring himself to offer any of those reasons at the moment.

"You and Mistah Sanchez had returned late the night before Vin's and mah departure." The southerner paused for another quick draw from the canteen. "Ah did not think mah illness serious enough … "

"That's not why," Chris said as he tossed his bedroll toward the campfire.

"I know," Nathan agreed. To Ezra he said, "I know sometimes I can be … dismissive of you. I know I shouldn't. I admit that, sometimes, I still can't accept that how you are is … for real."

Chris and Ezra shared furrowed brows at Nathan's admission, though neither noticed the other doing so. Ezra spoke first, which was an easy feat as Chris was at a loss as to what Nathan meant.

Ezra was not, but he wanted to hear Nathan say it.

"Forgive me, Mistah Jackson. What is it exactly about me that you are unsure is 'for real'?"

The former slave was quickly uncomfortable, but he knew he had talked himself into this; he needed to try to explain himself now that his two friends both seemed perplexed, even if he did suspect that Ezra really wasn't.

"That you … well, that you ain't a Reb, a southerner who hates my kind. I wonder if you, if you bein' my friend isn't … "

"An act? Some slight of hand? A con?" Ezra asked, his anger real even though he had predicted exactly this reaction from the healer.

"I know it ain't true," Nathan said, a seemingly lame attempt to get himself out of the hole he had talked himself into.

"Nathan, what is the matter with you?" Chris demanded. They'd talked on the way to Silver City, and Chris thought that Nathan realized his error in how he'd been treating Ezra. But if what Nathan just said was true, if by admitting that he still wasn't sure about the southerner really being his friend, that he wasn't sure that Ezra did not retain loyalties to a rebel action that was not only treasonous but lacking in moral standing in every possible way, then the two men had a lot farther to go in their relationship than Chris thought his two friends did.

"No, Mistah Larabee. You need not chastise Mistah Jackson for how he feels. As the great poet Lord Byron so aptly wrote:

_'Tis strange – but true; for truth is always strange;_

_Stranger than fiction; if it could be told,_

_How much would novels gain by the exchange!_

_How differently the world would men behold!_

_How oft would vice and virtue places change!_

_The new world would be nothing to the old,_

_If some COlumbis of the moral seas_

_Would show mankind their souls' antipodes._

"As Ah am certain you would agree, Chris, the truth is the most important thing."

"Ezra … " Nathan began again. The southerner sighed, seemingly with all his being, as he rubbed his forehead, his eyes closed, the ache in his head worse, the pain obvious to both Chris and Nathan. He opened his eyes and captured Nathan with what was likely the coldest look Ezra had given anyone since they'd all made his acquaintance three years before.

"If you truly do not believe that we are friends, then Ah would ask for some peace and quiet. Mah head … " Ezra continued, but another terrible spike of pain shot through the gambler. He sagged, tilting over from his upright position. He grunted again in pain, this time from aggravating his myriad aches and bruises from going up against a wagon wheel so that he might save a horse.

"Chris, grab him from that side," Nathan ordered. As Nathan and Chris put Ezra into a more comfortable and secure position, the healer kneeled before the ailing man and continued, "I didn't say it right, Ez. What I meant was, I can't believe I have friends that ain't black, white men, of any kind, who would call me friend. Most white men, especially southern white men, but not only southern white men … most of 'em wouldn't bother with me. Even if they weren't bigots, it wasn't usually to their benefit to be a friend to a former slave. All of you have been different. And from where you come from, Ezra, I know it was extra hard for you."

The pain in Ezra's eyes was palpable, both the physical and the emotional. And with his resistance being so very low at the moment, it didn't surprise Chris or Nathan that Ezra couldn't use his considerable skills to hide it.

"Ah do not feel up to this conversation, except to say when you are so … imprecise at reading a man, it would be near-impossible to make anything other than a mistake in your judgment of said person. You have more prejudice for 'mah kind' than Ah feel for yours, though Ah suspect that what you suffered prior to your emancipation blinds you to that fact." Ezra closed his eyes but opened them slowly. "Ah shall take your vile brew when it is ready. Ah have lost mah appetite." He closed his eyes once more, a clear indication that the conversation was over.

Chris spoke to his injured friend. "I'll bring you the tea when it's ready." Ezra opened his eyes and saw his leader's face, full of anger and confusion. They acknowledged with shared nods that the evening's conversation was not finished, just delayed. "Nate … he is a good man," Chris said softly, only loud enough for Ezra to hear.

"He is a fine healer. He would make a fine doctor. He serves our little burg well as a lawman."

"You're not makin' it hard for me to read between the lines, Ezra."

"You are an especially astute man for these parts, Mistah Larabee."

"Might be easier for you if you'd let people get close."

"Conversely, that could be a deadly prospect."

"Maybe. Could just start easy, call me Chris."

"After three years," Ezra said with a sad smile, "habits are hard to break."

"Workin' a friendship can be lots harder."

"Are you sayin' that our friendship is hard to maintain, Mistah Larabee?"

"It's definitely a challenge, Mister Standish." Ezra smiled, enjoying Chris' attempt to lighten the mood, but then he winced in pain, grimacing at all of his myriad aches. He closed his eyes and appeared to sag further into the hard ground. Chris patted Ezra's knee affectionately. "Get some rest." He looked over to Nathan, readying himself for a fight.

Ezra opened sad, dull green eyes, a look that was so different from what they were all used to seeing: bright green, shining with warmth and mischief. "Breathe, Chris. And remember, he is our only healer." Chris looked back to Ezra, his face still serious. He stood from his crouch and headed for Nathan.

"It is taking everything I've got not to punch you, Nate. What the hell?"

"I don't know. I thought … "

"No, ya didn't. Ya couldn't have. You're damned lucky Vin ain't here to hear how you …." Chris stopped speaking as he heard footfall. _'Why would Vin be walking into camp?'_ the gunslinger thought.

"Hands away from your weapons," the voice said. Chris and Nathan put their hands in front of them. "Good. Johnny, you can grab their guns." Out from the shadow of the large cottonwood tree came Johnny Rivers.

"Rivers," Chris said.

"Larabee," the 'miscreant' who Ezra and Vin had handed to the Silver City sheriff said. He snatched Chris' Colt and Nathan's old Confederate-issue pistol. Rivers' accomplice picked up the two rifles from the ground near the fire.

"Where's the other two?" the outlaw demanded. A third man joined the group.

"No other weapons with the horses," he said.

"All right," the leader of the outlaws said.

"Who are your friends, Rivers?" Chris asked as his hands were pulled behind his back and tied tightly.

"Don't matter. Where're the other two, cowboy?" the bulky man who first walked into the camp asked again, directing his question to Chris.

Chris knew that these men had just arrived and not thought through their actions. They hadn't looked farther than their noses or they would have known that Ezra lay up against the large boulder just beyond a stand of aspen trees. The setting sun had likely placed the con man in similar shadow as what had hidden these men from Chris and Nathan in the first place. They were going to have to move the upset southerner closer to the fire, eventually, but the former gunslinger shared a glance with the healer; they were lucky that they hadn't taken that action yet.

"They moved on to Four Corners. Damned gambler had to get back so's he could fleece some good people of their hard-earned money." Nathan's voice carried, hopefully well-enough for an incoming Vin or the recumbent Ezra to hear. "Don't know why he was in such a hurry. He ain't fully recovered."

"Hear he stepped in front of a runaway wagon to save a horse." The three outlaws laughed. "Ain't no horse worth that."

"Ah beg to differ," Ezra said from the shadows. "Ah might add that Ah have weapons aimed at two of you gentlemen."

"That ain't gonna stop one o' your friends from bein' shot," Rivers warned.

"Ah believe that it is. Nathan, what would be your opinion?"

"First thing I'd say is that my friend Ezra is equally good right or left handed." Nathan noticed that Ezra had removed the sling from his injured left arm. He could also see that holding the gun was hurting him, the gambler's eyes showing the effort he was making to keep both guns raised. But he also saw the gratitude in Ezra's eyes at being called 'friend'.

"One o' you is tied up. It's three against two," one of the men with Rivers said.

"And the nigger ain't got his guns," the other outlaw said.

Ezra hissed. "Ah despise that word, do Ah not, Vin?" Vin Tanner was still a wanted man; Ezra always only used the tracker's first name when there were strangers or people with questionable backgrounds present.

"That's right, Ezra. Almost as much as Chris hates bein' called cowboy." Vin's voice echoed from above them.

"Excellent. With mah friend now in position, might Ah suggest," Ezra said, moving out from the protection of the boulder and the aspens, "that you drop those weapons?"

"There's still only two … " one of the men started, but stopped speaking as one of Nathan's knives flew through the air and caught him on his collarbone, very close to his neck. Rivers and the other criminal both moved to fire their weapons. Vin took out Rivers, shooting the man in his forearm. Rivers dropped his gun, his arm shattered. Ezra shot the last one, getting him in his knee. The man dropped to the ground and grabbed for the freely-bleeding wound.

"With guns," Ezra finished the comment for the one with Nathan's knife sticking out of him as the smoke from his gun firing quickly cleared. "Yes, it must be difficult for you two, the less clever of our species, to think that we might have something else up our sleeves. Or in Mistah Jackson's case, strapped to his back." To Nathan, Ezra asked facetiously, "Why does no one evah look behind you to find your weapons of choice?" The amused smile dropped from his lips as his face turned instantly pale, visible even through his slight sunburn and fever. All of Ezra's friends saw him sway as he concentrated too much on talking and not enough on standing. He dropped the gun that he had not used from his left hand, and then the gambler dropped quickly to his knees. "Nathan?"

"Be right there, Ez," the black man said. Nathan quickly cut Chris loose, and once Vin made it down and the healer saw that his two fellow lawmen could handle Rivers and his men, he headed to Ezra. The southerner was leaning back against his ankles, clearly favoring his bruised left hip, his Colt still held loosely in his right hand. He had his eyes closed, but opened them as he sensed Nathan by his side.

"Mistah Jackson," the gambler said as he swayed dizzily, his head falling onto Nathan's shoulder. He leaned there heavily and continued, "Ah would like … to apologize for … the insensitive and … more importantly … incorrect comment Ah made earlier."

Nathan frowned and then patted the shoulder of his exhausted and hurting friend. "Don't know what you're referring to, Ezra. You hurt more?" he said as he leaned back and away from the man on his knees before him, trying to get a better look at the injured and ill card sharp.

"Not more," Ezra replied quietly. "Jus' the same. Tired."

"All right. That tea should be ready." To Chris the healer called, "When you're done with them, can ya get Ezra's stuff and move it closer to the fire?"

"Just need another minute," Chris answered.

Within five minutes, Ezra had been dosed with the tea and, though the medicinal effects of the willow bark would not have taken effect just yet, was fast asleep. Vin went back up to his perch on the boulder to retrieve the wild turkey and the snake that he'd caught, and was soon busy cooking their evening meal. Nathan was taking care of the injuries to Rivers and his men as Chris approached the former bounty hunter at the fire.

"I heard Ezra apologizin' ta Nate," Vin said as Chris poured himself a cup of coffee. "You know what that was about?"

"Reckon I do," Chris said. He took a draw of the hot, dark brew and added, "They had words while you were gone."

"Had words?" Vin asked as he looked toward Nathan. It was obvious that the healer had heard the tracker's last question as Nathan quickly looked away from the long-haired Texan. Vin's anger grew, knowing as he did what the 'words' likely were.

"I think we should let Nate and Ezra work it out," Chris told his friend.

"Why? Ain't Ezra been tryin' now for three years? Ain't there some point when it just don't make sense fer Ez to keep takin' it? Ain't it likely, after three years, that Nate ain't never gonna _work it out_?" Vin finished, throwing Chris' own words back at him. The tall blond looked back, steely-eyed, but not inclined to disagree.

"I understand why you're askin' that, Vin," the former slave said as he sat next to Chris. He looked into the fire where Vin had placed some of the turkey and the snake on a spit. "I know that what's goin' on between Ezra and me is my fault. I ain't sayin' that he don't poke, that sometimes, the way he can go on, listenin' to him … with his accent, that it don't feel like a festerin' blister to hear."

"Nate, that ain't no reason … "

"Vin!" Nathan yelled in anger. All three looked over to the sleeping gambler, but there clearly was no worry about Ezra waking; he'd practically passed out after downing the 'witch's brew', as he often called Nathan's healing teas. The healer's worry over that reaction was obvious, but they all knew Ezra had been through so much over the last week or so. The man was nowhere near recovered from his illness, his injuries, the long ride, not to mention the anxiety-ridden activity this night.

Nathan continued in a near-whisper. "Ezra ain't done nothin' to cause how I treat him." He shook his head. "I thought I was a better man … my daddy … my momma would be disappointed in how I've been with Ez, I realize that now. Ezra's done everything a black man could ask of a white man from the south. But no matter how much he tries and how much he forgives, it ain't never been enough, even though it's … it's been everything, I just didn't … I didn't see."

"Maybe you think you should do more," Chris said.

"I don't … there ain't nothin' … I don't have anything Ezra wants or needs."

Vin turned away from the cook fire, found a substantial rock, and kicked it into the now darkened desert. He turned back, stood over the healer and said, "Nothin' but yer friendship. And maybe a little respect," the former bounty hunter added as he went back to tend to their meal.

"Just a nigger," Rivers said. "If'n he cares 'bout bein' a nigger lover … "

"Shut up!" Chris, Vin and Nathan called to their mouthy prisoner.

"Unless you want a bandana stuffed down your throat," Chris added. Rivers quieted down, for the time being.

"I'm gonna talk to him … apologize," Nathan promised.

"That ain't enough," Vin said. "You've sworn you'd do better before," the tracker reminded his friend.

"I will," the healer said as he nodded once, then twice. Then more firmly he added, "I will."

"I hope you will, Nathan. I don't want to lose either one of you, but if you can't straighten this out, it might make more sense for you to resign your position as a lawman," Chris said.

Nathan knew that Chris was serious. From the look in their leader's eyes, the healer could tell that Chris had already thought of that as a possibility. Nathan shook his head. He did not want that. Being one of the seven who protected their town had made him so proud. It had made his father proud. That was a feeling he was grateful to have after his father had come back into his life, oh so briefly. Following his father's conviction, and then subsequent death from consumption, Nathan sat back and recalled how so many people treated him and his father so decently in their town during that time, including Ezra, despite his distractions with Maude's incarceration in the town jail.

The people of Four Corners had, at first, been grateful, too, for what the seven of them did to protect the town, but over the few years that they'd provided security to Four Corners, those feelings from the townspeople changed to more of a sense of respect, even affection. And the town, save for just a few, didn't care that he was black or a former slave any more than they cared about Ezra's gambling or Chris' potential to draw young guns in an attempt to beat the notorious Chris Larabee at a quick draw.

"I don't want that, Chris. I _will_ make this right with him," Nathan assured both Chris and Vin.

"Good," Chris said.

"Yer the one needs to change, Nathan. Don't want you thinkin' it's any different," Vin said, a clear warning in his tone.

"I know. I know."

* * *

"I want you up in the clinic, Ezra."

"And Ah will agree to meet you in mah room in one hour."

"An hour? You ain't even gonna be standin' in half o' that."

"Nathan." The healer looked over to the man who had called his name. He saw both Chris and Vin, and neither man looked happy.

"He's … he needs to be looked at," Nathan explained.

"He … " Chris started, but he and Ezra said nearly the same thing when the gambler spoke at the same time, "Ah have agreed to that."

"I'll get 'im to his room quicker. Happy to help ya check in on Chaucer and get Midnight settled, Ez."

"You are too kind, Mistah Tanner." The two men rode their horses to the livery. Chris and Nathan dismounted as Buck and J.D. joined them from the jail.

"Want me to take your horses, get Tiny to take care of 'em?" J.D. offered.

"Thanks, that would be nice," Chris said gratefully. Both Buck and J.D. noted the scowl marring Nathan's face.

"Everything all right?" Buck asked. "Other than bringing those fellas in?" Buck and J.D. were quick to meet the group as they rode into town. The two men who had grown as close as brothers took all three wounded outlaws and put them behind bars. "Josiah's gonna watch 'em for now." The mustachioed lawman saw Nathan's angry face as he watched Vin and Ezra heading with their horses to the livery, followed by J.D. leading the other horses in the same direction.

"Just a little disagreement," Chris said. "Everything's fine, right Nathan?"

A noncommittal grunt from the healer was followed by, "Someone come get me when he decides he's ready." And then the large black man walked toward the stairs leading to the clinic above the livery.

Chris shook his head as Buck said, "Guess everything's not all right?" Chris looked to his oldest friend. Buck could read the frustration, there was no need for the former gunslinger to reply. "Ezra do somethin' … "

"No!" Chris answered, his response filled with anger. "I'm gettin' tired of everyone thinkin' it's always Ezra … "

"Whoa, hold on there, old pard," Buck interrupted. "You lost your memory? It always used ta be you who assumed if somethin' went wrong, it was probably Ezra that caused it."

Chris looked at his friend. Buck could see the immediate change in his demeanor. Chris nodded his head, angry with himself that he'd treated Ezra that way for so long. It was true, early on, that he didn't trust the gambler, and that he assumed that every action Ezra took was in some way self-serving. There was no doubt that others had followed his lead in that regard. He no longer felt that way about the southerner. Buck knew that, so did Vin, but Chris Larabee needed to clear the air with his men and with the townspeople about just how much he trusted and admired Ezra Standish.

"I know," Chris admitted. "And even if others don't know how I feel now, I know he does. But that ain't enough."

"Probably not, Chris, but how Nathan is with Ezra ain't really influenced by how you used to treat that ornery poker player. Never was."

"No. Nate says he's gonna do better, but he's still got a chip on his shoulder where Ezra's concerned that he may never get over." Chris looked Buck in the eye. "That's gonna be a problem."

"Well," Buck said as he slapped Chris on the back, "he'll either figure it out … or he won't. Let me buy you a drink."

"You got money to buy me a drink?" Chris asked, knowing that there was little chance that the ladies' man had much money in his pocket this far into the month.

"Inez'll let me add a couple more drinks to my tab."

"Don't bet on it."

Buck stopped on their way across the street. "Why? Ezra say somethin' to you?"

"No, but he is … was … sometimes dates her. I'm sure he's advising her on good business practices," Chris explained.

"I'm good for it," Buck defended.

"How do you figure?" They shared a glance and then Buck smiled broadly.

"Hell, that little girl can't say no to me."

"I dunno, Buck. 'No' and 'Nunca' are pretty close in meaning."

Buck frowned. "Why'd ya have to bring that up?"

"I'm just tryin' to keep you from embarrassing yourself."

"Ah, you don't know what you're talkin' 'bout. Inez can't say no to this handsome mug."

* * *

"No."

"No? Aw, come on, honey, it's just two drinks."

"On top of your highest tab ever. And I am not your 'honey'. I am no one's 'honey'," Inez insisted as she stepped to the left to help another patron.

Buck turned to his oldest friend and warned, "Don't say it."

"I won't, but I'm thirsty. Inez," he called to her.

"One moment, Señor Chris."

"You gonna buy me a drink?" Buck asked.

"What, you can't even afford one drink?"

"Of course I can, but I wanted to get Miss Dorothy somethin' nice … "

"Then the answer is no, Buck. You have to start takin' responsibility for your own needs and wants," Chris replied.

"You ain't my father, Chris," Buck announced, his tone taking on a decided edge and completely opposite of his normal, easy-going self.

"And I ain't your bank, Buck." The ladies' man stood there, unhappy, knowing that Chris was right but completely unwilling to give his friend any credit for being so.

"Señor Chris, the usual?" the pretty Mexican barkeep asked.

"Yes, please."

"Where are Ezra and Vin?" she asked, though she couldn't really mask the fact that her true interest was in the welfare of the gambler. She poured the leader of the men who protected her adopted home town his first shot of whiskey.

"Seein' to their horses. They'll be along soon enough." Chris downed the shot as Buck watched.

"He … I mean … Ezra, he does not have to go to Nathan's clinic?" she asked with concern as she re-filled the glass.

"He probably should, but Nathan agreed to meet him in his room." With the newly filled shot glass, Chris took just a taste. Buck growled softly.

"So he is still not well."

"He's better, but we had an incident." Chris looked at the big, sad, beautiful eyes, full of worry. The leader of The Seven might have to have a conversation with Ezra about why he and Inez were no longer a couple. It didn't seem right to him. It was obvious that the Mexican beauty and the gambler were in love, and a near-perfect match. "He'll be fine. He needs to rest. It was a grueling ride back." She nodded in understanding, and then her eyes moved from Chris to Buck, and then back, her lack of response and moving on to the silent query evidence that talk of Ezra was still painful for her. "Hell no!" Chris said, understanding the question. "Buck can buy his own drink." The former gunslinger knew that he needed to add the emphasis in order for Buck to get the point. Inez smiled, placed the stopper in the neck of the bottle and returned the liquor to the shelf below the counter of the bar. "Call me when you are ready for another," Inez said. It was obvious that Chris was not planning to stay as he had not taken the bottle with him to his regular table.

In a huff, Buck said, "I'll be at Miss Dorothy's." He turned and quickly headed for the batwing doors.

"Have fun," Chris said conversationally, not expecting Buck to hear. He shook his head and grinned affectionately. Buck was still a kid at heart and often still acted childishly. Chris was pretty sure that the man was set in his ways and would remain a big kid until his dying day; it depended on the day whether he thought that was a good thing or a bad thing, though he was leaning toward good if it meant he'd have Buck around until old age. Moments later, Vin and Ezra came through the door, Ezra moving slowly, tiredly, Vin shadowing him the entire way.

"Ezra, ya look like hell," Chris said. "Go sit."

"Too kind," the southerner retorted. "Ah b'lieve Ah will." Inez caught the handsome man's eye and tilted her head to the stash of good Kentucky bourbon. Ezra smiled, but shook his head no.

"I'm takin' ya off rotation until you're feelin' better." Vin sat down at the table, a freshly-drawn beer in his hand.

"Ah appreciate the sentiment, but Ah am certain Ah will be ready to take mah turn at patrolling our fair town by tomorrow."

"We'll cover for ya, Ez," Vin said. "You don't want to rush it and get sick again."

"Ah also do not wish for you gentlemen to have to take extra patrols. Mah extended illness and injuries were, ultimately, self-inflicted."

"But your initial illness wasn't, though I agree you might've saved yourself some grief … well, you know what I mean," Chris said.

"Indeed Ah do, bettah late than nevah."

"Ez, yer lookin' real pale. Why don't you head up 'n' lay down," Vin suggested.

"I'll go fetch Nathan," Chris said.

"Please … Chris. Finish your drink. Ah will go lay down, on Vin's wise council. But Ah would … relish some more time before Ah subject mahself to Mistah Jackson's ministrations."

"Ezra," Vin started, "Nate … "

"Mistah Tanner, this … situation between our healer and mahself, it is not the end of the world. Some things are simply not meant to be." Ezra rubbed his forehead as he lowered it, not wanting to look at Vin's eyes when he admitted this next part. "It was likely always extraordinary long odds that Mistah Jackson would evah truly come to … like me. Ah am, at this point, willin' to accept that our fine healer will only have moments where he tolerates me." The gambler stopped talking, took his hand away from his head, and sighed. No response from Chris or Vin persuaded him that neither man disagreed, at least that was his gut feeling, until he heard the familiar notes of Nathan's rich baritone. It was a sound that resonated warmth and caring, when it didn't stab with derogatory and accusing tones, said tones reserved almost exclusively for the gambler.

"That ain't true, Ezra."

The card sharp raised his tired eyes to the large black man. "Mistah Jackson, we are, neither one of us, naïve. After three years of knowin' one another, any further pretense seems an unnecessary waste of time, and beneath us both." Ezra stood up, shakily pressing his hand to the table to check his balance. "Shall we get this examination over with so that Ah might rest and you might get on to more important endeavors?" He stepped away from the table and slowly made his way up the staircase.

"How much of that did you hear?" Chris asked.

"Came in at the long odds and only tolerating him."

"That was enough. Can understand why he might believe what he says," Vin said.

"I know," Nathan agreed.

"Got some mendin' to do. You up to it?" the tracker asked.

"He is," Chris answered for the former slave. "He has to be." Nathan witnessed the look of warning on Chris' face, a reminder of the conversation they'd previously shared. He didn't want to relinquish his position as a lawman; it meant too much to him. He needed to make this right with the gambler. The healer stood and made his way to Ezra's room. He had much more than a sick and injured body to mend.

* * *

"How long has Nate been up there?" Josiah asked worriedly. The preacher, Chris and Vin shared a meal in the saloon as they waited on Nathan to return from tending to the gambler.

"Comin' up on two hours," Chris answered. "Ezra needs rest. What the hell is Nathan thinking?"

"You told him he had to talk with Ez," Vin said as he used the thick corn tortilla to scoop up the wonderful sauces and bits of bean and beef left on the plate.

"I didn't expect him to keep the man from resting just so he could clear his conscience. Damn it. He can do that on his own time," Chris fumed.

"I don't think Brother Nathan would do anything to hurt Ezra," Josiah said.

"I ain't so sure about that," Chris countered as he glared back at the big man. "Tell me something, Josiah. When did you decide that Ezra was worth the trouble? And there ain't no need asking me the same thing. I know I was late gettin' there." _Damned if the man wasn't a handful_, Chris thought to himself, but definitely worth it.

"We're all different, Chris."

"Just answer the question."

"For me, it was when I saw how he treated them kids at the Seminole village," Josiah admitted. He continued sadly, "That don't mean I haven't done things since then that made him think I thought less of him than I do."

Chris shook his head slightly. They had all had moments like that in the journey to realizing that Ezra was one of them, that he belonged. Still …

"Three years. How long has Nathan been assuring us that he would treat Ezra better?" Chris asked, prefacing the question with the answer everyone already knew.

Josiah recognized that there had been times throughout these three years where Nathan seemed on the verge, seemed like through all of the deeply held concerns that he had over making a friendship with a gambler, a con man, a cheat … a southerner who, in Nathan's eyes likely held with slavery, at least at some point if not still. But also a brave man, a good man who'd saved Nathan's life more than once. Josiah thought that his black friend was there, finally, right on the edge of accepting Ezra as they all ultimately had.

"A long time," Josiah answered reluctantly, forced to admit that Nathan's actions, no matter how close he seemed to get, always managed to revert back to anger, frustration, disgust … sometimes even hatred toward the southerner.

"Might never get there," Vin said. "Think Nate'll always have a burr up his butt about Ezra's gambling."

"It would make Nathan a pretty small man if he can let Ezra fight with us, eat with us, save lives, including his, but not treat him decent. His gambling isn't hurting anyone," Chris offered, angry that, three years on, they were still having this conversation.

"Not anymore," Nathan said as he joined them.

Chris offered a disgusted snort. "What, did you have some sort of epiphany?" Chris asked snidely. Vin offered his own annoyed look to the former slave.

"Sounds like you've been spending time with Ezra, Chris," Josiah said.

"We all have. Fer three years," Vin noted.

"And we're all the better for it," Chris added. "Most of us know that."

Josiah stared at Chris, understanding the point to the words but wondering if being confrontational was the right way to handle their dilemma. To Nathan, the big man asked, "What were you doin' up there for so long?"

"He's feelin' worse than he's admitting." The three men at the table all had the same expression on their faces. "I know. I would have known that sooner if Ezra felt comfortable tellin' me." He paused, and then added, "So we talked."

"Nathan," Chris said through gritted teeth.

"I told him I wanted to talk with him when he was feeling better. But Ezra, he didn't want to wait."

"No time like the present," Vin said with a knowing grin.

Nathan smiled. "Yeah, that's what he said. He thinks, well, he said that his accent is somethin' I can't get over. He said a lot more than that."

"He can't help where he's from, Nate," Josiah chastised.

"He fought for The South in the war," Nathan challenged.

"Nathan, god damn it, he did what me and Buck and Vin did, what all of us too young to be fightin' a war did: he joined up because everyone joined up." Chris could not hide his anger that someone as smart as Nathan couldn't understand that.

"You ain't really holdin' that against him?" Vin asked. "'Cause he fired a cannon on Anderson's Confederates. I think he proved where his loyalty was when he did that."

"We talked it over. I … I guess I needed him to explain it," Nathan admitted.

"You could have heard that explanation a long time ago if you'd just given him a chance," Chris told the healer.

"How come you can go long periods without givin' Ezra a hard time, and then just treat him like he ain't even yer friend? Do you think of him as a friend?" Vin asked.

"Of course I do."

"Then what else is it? I don't think it's just because he's from the south," Josiah said.

"No." Chris wanted to beat more out of the healer, but he really wasn't too inclined at the moment to be manhandled by Josiah.

"So what else did you talk about?" Chris asked.

"We talked about lots of things. Ezra and me … we're real different." It seemed that Nathan was planning to stop without making a real point, but there was little chance that the men he sat with would allow it.

"We talked about his conning and his gambling, how I don't like how he cheats, how he ruins peoples' lives."

All three men sitting at the table challenged the healer.

"He don't cheat at cards, Nathan," Vin said harshly.

"He hasn't run a con, unless it's something we asked him to do, since he almost left town with that money," Chris said. "That's over two years ago."

"Whose life has Ezra Standish ever ruined, Brother?" Josiah asked. "I can't recollect any."

"Even if someone lost everything they had on 'em, that ain't Ezra's fault," Vin piled on.

"People have to know their limits when they sit down at a poker table, especially with a professional. Ez don't hide that playing poker is how he makes his living," Josiah said. It had taken Josiah a while to get over his first impressions of the gambler, too. The preacher knew that people had to take responsibility for their own actions, that not everything could be blamed on a man simply because he was superior to everyone else with a deck of cards.

"I know," Nathan said. "We talked about all of that."

"You did?" Chris asked.

"Yeah, we did."

"And?" Chris asked.

"He agreed to give me a chance. I told him that I wouldn't hold his gambling against him. He said I shouldn't make promises I couldn't keep."

"He's right about that," Josiah commented. "You've made that promise before."

"I know. Ezra says that I would understand that he don't cheat people if I sat in on some games with him."

"What? You didn't take him up on that, did you?" Chris demanded.

"No!" the healer answered, clearly upset that Chris thought that he might. "I told him that I didn't need that. I told him that I finally saw how I'd been treating him, how I looked at myself through my daddy's eyes." Nathan looked from Chris to Josiah and then back to Chris. "I know I shoulda done that a long time ago." The healer looked away, shame written on his dark visage. He looked back, addressing his fellow lawmen. "Anyway, I told him I wanted to be a better man, that it wasn't just my daddy who would be upset. Rain already is. She's been at me for a while, just like you, Chris."

"Is that so?" the blond asked, still angry.

"Yeah, I've been ignoring her, too. But I know I can do this. I told Ezra that I wanted him to come to me when he was sick or hurt, and I told him he should remind me if I start actin' like an ass again."

"That's not really something he should be concerned about, Nate," Vin said. "That's yer job to watch for."

"I know. I shouldn't have … "

"We'll square Ezra on that," Chris said.

"And we'll be happy to help with the remindin', won't we, boys?" Vin asked, though it was far less of a question and much more a warning.

"Amen to that, Brother," Josiah seconded. No one needed to see the agreement on Chris' face. He would no doubt be the first one in line to straighten Nathan out.

* * *

"You allowed to have that?"

Ezra sighed. "Ah am allowed one drink. Our healer is an ogre."

Chris sat at the table with the card sharp. Ezra was still looking peaked. "I think he's trying to right a wrong."

"No doubt. It is not necessary, so long as this corner we all like to believe we have turned has truly set us in the right direction in our … relationship." Chris knew that his friend had considered using the word 'friendship'. He hoped that these two very different men from the south could finally be friends. He knew that both men wanted it. Chris also knew that the rest of The Seven would be there to help, in any way they could, now that it seemed real that Nathan had recognized the error of his ways, and that Ezra had been welcoming to every overture Nathan had offered.

Except for the one drink rule. It was a rule with special stipulations. One glass, imbibed by eight o'clock. 'Absurd' the southerner had said. Nathan knew he would have his hands full with Ezra as the man recovered, but Ezra was still in pain and Nathan insisted that the liquor needed to be absorbed well before the gambler took the medicinal tea with the pain reliever and mild sedative.

"Nathan just wants you over this," Chris said patiently. "Do you mind?" he asked as he nodded to the bottle of Kentucky bourbon.

"Of course. Someone may as well enjoy the fine elixir," Ezra said sorrowfully.

"Nathan figure out what it was that made you sick in the first place?" Chris asked as he poured himself a shot of the 'fine elixir'.

"No, not precisely. He has surmised that Ah might have inadvertently ingested something that did not agree with me in a particularly virulent fashion."

"Really? Don't know how you could have had such bad luck over the course of a few days. An infected cut, exhaustion, breakin' your arm, bruisin' your hip, knockin' that hard head, and he thinks you might've eaten or drunk something that made you sick." It wasn't a question, just a summary of all that Ezra had overcome over this last while.

Ezra shrugged, and then hissed, his broken and badly bruised arm not especially happy with the movement. "He does not know for sure. He is still … " Ezra yawned unexpectedly and then finished his thought, " … researching. Hell," he added in frustration as he rubbed his hand tiredly down his face.

"Finish your drink," Chris suggested.

"Ah do not see the point. Ah am not enjoyin' it. Ah feel like hell. Ah shall require your assistance gettin' up to mah room if Ah imbibe." Chris' eyes opened wide, and he smacked his lips as though he was preparing to visit his favorite whore in Purgatorio. Ezra snorted. "Take it." The card sharp pushed his glass in front of the former gunslinger.

"Thanks, Ezra."

"Not at all." Chris glanced about the saloon, making sure Buck wasn't around. He had two nearly full glasses of good bourbon in front of him, after all.

Ezra smiled at the stealthy yet amusing behavior from the former gunslinger. "Would you kindly tell Mistah Jackson that Ah have retired early? Ah will be expectin' him."

"Glad to hear it. You gonna be unarmed?" the leader of The Seven asked with a sardonic grin.

"With all due respect, Chris, would your weapon be far from you when in repose?"

"I get your point."

"A hearty knock will wake me if Ah should succumb to Morpheus' call. Ah do not feel the necessity to be as quick on the trigger as Ah once did."

"And we're all happy about it, and safer for it," Chris said with a smile that the gambler returned. "I'll let Nate know."

"Thank you." Ezra rose from his chair but added, "Mistah Larabee …." He looked down, rubbed his bottom lip, and then looked back up into Chris's eyes, and said, "Ah do not believe Ah thanked you, Chris, for comin' all the way to Silver City to retrieve me, and for bringing Mistah Jackson. Ah do not recall all that went on during these last weeks, but Ah know that Ah felt safe and cared for, in spite of mah troubles with our fine healer."

"You're an important part of our group, Ezra."

The man who never thought he would settle in a place like Four Corners, the professional poker player who had learned that all the money in the world could not take the place of the feeling of belonging, replied, "Ah see that now."

"I hope you do," Chris said, sharing his own warm smile, an expression that the entire town was seeing more often these days.

"It is quite something, what we have built here," Ezra said softly.

Chris appreciated Ezra opening up about his feelings. He reciprocated. "You and the boys … you saved my life. Made it possible for me to … well, Mary and me, we couldn't have got together, without …. " Chris stopped, not exactly sure how to finish.

"Ah understand." They remained, Chris drinking the fine liquor, Ezra leaning heavily with one good arm on the back of his chair. After a quiet and companionable pause, Ezra continued, "Well, off to bed."

"Ez, before you go. Can I ask you a question?"

"Certainly."

"What happened with you and Inez?"

Ezra nodded once slowly, then twice. He looked over to the bar, where the Mexican beauty poured one man a drink, with a smile, and chatted with the only other customer. She then headed to the kitchen, leaving the bar in Tom's capable hands. Ezra snorted an ironic laugh, shook his head and then looked back to his friend. "That is a tale, long and complicated. Ah will tell you, as you asked kindly and out of honest concern … at another time. Ah shall say, however, that the story I would tell you tomorrow could easily differ from the story Ah might have told of last month's separation, or from the story to be told after next month's. Ah always thought that mah dear mother was the most complex and demanding woman Ah have evah known or would evah know."

"Inez is givin' Maude a run for her money?"

"Indeed."

"Well, with Inez, there's something else in the mix, always makes things more … everything." Chris had fond memories of courting Sarah, when he wasn't trying to avoid running into her father. So far, with Mary Travis, at least that part had been easier.

"Yes. And to say that Ah had not allowed a woman close in a very, very long time is without doubt a factor." The gambler yawned. "Mah apologies."

"Go to that nice bed o' yours. We'll talk another time."

"Good night," Ezra said as he made his way toward the staircase that would take him to his room.

"'Night, Ez," Chris said. He finished his drink as he watched Ezra make his way up the steps, carefully, each step a struggle, proof unhidden that he was still hurting. Chris heard the sound of the door open and then close, waited a few moments, and then walked over to the bar, near the entryway to the kitchen, Ezra's glass of bourbon in hand. "You can come out now." Inez Rocillos walked to the bar and stood opposite Chris. It was a Monday night, the one night of the week when Inez closed the saloon early. The man that she had been talking to had left, the other one was finishing his drink. That left just the two of them as Tom started clearing the tables and sweeping the floor.

"Did you need something more, señor?"

"No." He looked at her, his steely eyes penetrating, daunting, even to a woman who did not have a reputation for standing down in the face of such intimidation. "He loves you."

"Yes."

"You heard what he said."

"It is not all me, I can assure you of that," the pretty Mexican huffed.

"He said the same, without really saying it."

"I know."

"He's likely to wait for you forever. Seems right to make a choice. I know … he should, too. But he won't. You'll have to do it." She leaned heavily on the bar.

"I do not want that. I want him to decide that he wants me more than he wants …." She stopped, not sure that she really knew how to say what she wanted, and even if she did, whether it would make sense to Chris Larabee.

"He compared you to Maude … unfavorably."

"Yes. I understand why." She lowered her head, looking at her hands, now folded on the countertop.

Chris downed the rest of Ezra's drink. "You should decide what you want. A lawman who is distracted is a danger to the men whose backs he covers … and a danger to himself."

"I do understand. I will talk with him."

"Tomorrow."

"But Señor Chris, he is still not well. I … "

"Tomorrow." Chris stepped away and headed out into the night.

* * *

"Ah … Ah do not know what to say." Ezra Standish looked truly flabbergasted by the honor that had just been bestowed upon him. "Thank you."

"That's it? That's all you got to say?" Buck asked, amused by the out-of-character brevity from the card sharp.

"Leave 'im be, Buck."

"Come on, Chris. You know it's funny," J.D. said jokingly. Vin stood back, ready to help Ezra out, though it seemed that Chris was handling things just fine.

"Sounded heartfelt to me," Josiah noted. Ezra, now sporting a faint flush of embarrassment from the smattering of applause from his fellow citizens, sent the preacher a look of sincere thanks.

"Well," Mary said, "we do have luncheon for all who can attend." The newspaper woman knew that the number of people who would head over to Heidegger's restaurant would be far fewer than the people she saw before her. Some would quickly head back to their businesses, or to their homes. It was sure to be a sizable, loud and raucous group, the restaurant bursting with goodwill. The cook was being ably assisted by many of the women of the town offering up their own specialties so that the Heideggers didn't foot the entire bill.

Nathan stood with Chris, Josiah and Vin as Buck found his lady for the day and J.D. took Casey's hand and walked ahead. "He's got his appetite back," the healer said.

"Such that it is," Josiah added.

"Eats like a bird," Chris said in wonder.

"Needs to have room for all that liquor," Vin said with a wicked grin. "'Sides, he eats more than we know. Can't keep in shape like that without eatin'."

"That's true," Nathan agreed. They watched as Ezra stepped up to her.

"Shall we go, Miss Rocillos?"

Inez placed her hand through the arm offered by the handsome man.

"Yes we shall, Mr. Standish." They stepped off the boardwalk in front of the Clarion and headed to the restaurant.

"How long … " Vin started, but Chris cut him off.

"Who knows." They all followed the crowd heading to Mary's luncheon.

"How do you know what I was asking about?"

"Don't."

"You know something I don't?"

"Maybe."

The End.

* * *

The poem cited is from Lord Byron's Don Juan, written in 1823.


End file.
